


Standard Operating Procedures

by romanticalgirl



Series: OSHA Compliant [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 02:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4462613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding the new normal</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standard Operating Procedures

Mickey gets as far as Hannibal, Missouri before he stops for lunch. There’s a diner that looks like something out of some 40’s movie and two fast food restaurants. Going in the diner seems like it’s tempting fate to send him some Jimmy Stewart looking dude as an angel and change his life, so he hits the McDonald’s instead. Of course, there are a thousand kids running around like heathens.

Which reminds him of Yevgeny.

“Fuck.”

About fifty moms turn around to glare at him and Mickey doesn’t flip them off, which he thinks is a show of admirable restraint. He eats his Big Mac like it’s offended him, flipping the pickles aside. He gets a chocolate dipped ice cream cone before he leaves and sits in his car. The car seat is still in the back and he’s licking the ice cream cone like a fucking dick.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He turns the key hard enough that the engine growls at him in warning. He bites the chocolate in retaliation and squeals out of the parking lot. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

The drive home takes longer because he hits rush hour traffic even outside the Chicago city limits. He doesn’t stop by his apartment, driving straight to the Gallagher house. He parks down the street and calls Ian’s cell phone. He’s not even sure Ian’s got the same number. He never bothered calling it again.

“This is Ian.”

“Gallagher.”

There’s a long silence after a sharp intake of breath. Finally, Ian clears his throat. “Mickey?”

“Meet me at the bar on seventh. Back of the Yards.”

“Are you...I mean, seriously?”

“I’ll be there in a half hour. I’ll wait an hour. You want to talk, we’ll talk.” Mickey waits for a response. He’s about to hang up when Ian finally speaks.

“Okay. I’ll be there.”

**

Mickey’s got a beer in front of him, but he hasn’t taken a drink. He runs his finger up and down the glass, chasing condensation. He must be emitting some kind of aura, because no one comes near him, so he knows it’s Ian when someone sits across from him at the table.

“You changed your number.”

Mickey shakes his head. “Stole a different phone. Always change the number.”

“I almost didn’t answer.”

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll wish you didn’t.” Mickey takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “You can’t do that. What you did the other night.”

“I know.” He nods and when Mickey looks at him, Ian looks miserable and upset. Regret written across his face. “I was out of line.”

“Yeah. You really fucking were.” Mickey rubs his hand over his mouth and finally takes a sip of his beer. “You dumped me. You disappeared for 2 ½ years. You don’t get to waltz back into my life like nothing’s happened. I’m not the same guy you knew. I’ve told you that. But I’ve never been able to help how I feel about you, and you taking advantage of that really, really fucking sucks.”

Ian nods and looks down at his hands. “I did. Disappear. Not...not voluntarily.”

Mickey raises an eyebrow. “What’s that mean?”

“About two weeks after everything that went down with us? I wasn’t taking my meds. I started hallucinating again. Lip came into the house after dark and I...I beat the shit out of him. I knocked him unconscious. Didn’t stop until Frank of all people stopped me. I didn’t actually feel bad about hurting Frank, but Lip was a bloody mess. I thought he was your dad.”

Both of Mickey’s eyebrows lift this time and he nods. “That’s a really shitty hallucination.”

“They’re always shitty.” Ian traces a circle on the table. “It wasn’t a voluntary commitment this time. And it wasn’t seventy-two hours. I suppose it was a better alternative than jail. Lip wouldn’t have pressed charges, but Frank would have.”

“So they locked you up?”

“Yeah. For a year and a half. Therapy. Meds adjustment. Counseling. How not to be crazy in eighteen short months. And after that...I didn’t want to leave the house. I was scared that I’d lose it again, even though I knew I was stable. And you know my family.”

“Yeah.” Mickey huffs out a laugh. “Calling them overprotective would be like calling the Grand Canyon a ditch.”

“So they were...them. And I kind of got the whole spiel about how things from before are bad for me, were bad for me. The club. Drinking. Drugs. You. Us. And I was doing okay finally, so I thought they were right. Or maybe I wanted them to be right because that would mean I didn’t fuck it all up on my own.”

“You can’t help being sick.”

“No. I can’t. But using it as an excuse isn’t right either. Yeah. It fucks me up, but I had a way to control it, but that meant admitting that it was controlling me.” Ian frowns and watches Mickey’s hand on the glass, finally shaking his head and looking up at Mickey again. “My counselor and I talked about routine. I had a routine already. Wake up, eat breakfast, take pills, go to the gym or run, go home, eat dinner, watch TV, go to bed. It’s repetitive, but it’s not scary. It’s manageable. Then she suggested getting out of the house. Trying to build my life up again. So I looked for a job. And somehow got one.”

“But then I was there?”

“No! No. God, no. You being there was so good.” Ian’s voice is vehement. “You were another consistency. I know you. Well, I knew you. You were a link to who I’d been before. You knew me away from my family. Before. At the Kash and Grab. Before all of this.” He taps the side of his head. “Even after everything, you don’t look at me like I’m damaged. You look at me like you know who I am. Who I can be.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know about that. I know who you were.” Mickey shrugs and looks down at his beer before taking another sip. “Neither of us are the same.”

“I know.” Ian sounds sad, and Mickey hates the way his gut twists. “I mean, not in every way. I obviously still try to use sex to get what I want.” His mouth is twisted ruefully. “When you wouldn’t talk to me or...anything. I did what I do best. What I thought you wouldn’t be able to say no to. I used you. How you felt about me. I’m sorry.”

“Feel.”

“What?”

Mickey doesn’t mean to say it, certainly not out loud. Saying it is the stupidest thing he could possibly do, but he’s tired of lying. Tired of pretending he’s ice cold and unfeeling. Tired of keeping up walls. It’s exhausting. He shakes his head. “How I feel about you.” He laughs sadly. “I thought I was past it, past you. I thought I’d moved on. But I haven’t. I haven’t moved a fucking step.”

“That’s not true.”

“It really fucking is.” Mickey drains his beer. “I was so fucking proud of myself. So fucking cocky. And then you walked in and every single wall started crashing down.” He stares down at his hands and flexes his fingers. He pawned his wedding ring ages ago but he remembers the weight of it. Getting rid of it was like coming out. Another step to being free. “I was running away.”

“What?”

“Before this. This morning. I packed up some of my shit and left the apartment. Got into Missouri and turned around.”

“Why?”

“Which one?”

“Either. Both.”

Mickey shrugs. “Seemed easier, you know? I’m fucking tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of feeling. Tired of...” He sucks in a breath and exhales through his nose. “Tired of not being enough. Tired of being fuckable but not loveable.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yeah? Why? You gonna say you loved me, Ian?” He sees Ian flinch at his name. Gallagher probably would have been easier to handle. “I have the bullet scar to prove that’s not true. I have the past two years to prove it’s not true. Yeah, you were locked up, but I bet you had phone calls. I bet you had visitors. I bet...” 

“That’s not fair.”

“No? Why? Because I didn’t come running after you? Because I didn’t humiliate myself more? Because I didn’t prostrate myself at your feet and beg you to...” Mickey laughs bitterly. “I gave you everything. I put everything out there. And it wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough.” 

“That’s not true, Mick.”

“Mickey.” Mickey swirls the few remaining suds in his glass. “This isn’t gonna happen again, Ian. This isn’t going to be you and me again. Us. There isn’t an us. Not now. Not again. Not ever. I’m not loveable because I can’t love anyone anymore. Everything I had for you I put into Yevgeny and myself. There’s nothing left.”

Ian reaches out and touches the back of Mickey’s hand. It’s a small gesture, but it feels like a lightning bolt through Mickey’s skin. “I don’t believe that.”

“I don’t care what you believe. I’m tired of putting it all on the line for you. So I’m not going to do it again.” Mickey gets up and taps the table twice. “Maybe that’s not fair. I know it wasn’t you. It was us. Both of us. But it’s me making this decision for myself. For real this time.” He gives Ian a small, tight smile. “See you at work, Gallagher.”

**

He goes to work the next day and doesn’t have his last cigarette of the morning outside the doors. He focuses on his job, barely noting Ian when he does his rounds. Ian’s working his crew hard though, from the looks of things. 

He does his best to avoid him, but Ian’s at every Monday meeting, challenging Mickey to make the crews work harder with his numbers. Mickey reminds him not to overwork them, but Ian just smirks and talks about motivation. Mickey wonders why Ian says it. If it’s because of hurt or spite or if Ian just can’t not rely on the sexual aspect to get to Mickey. He hates that he can’t tell. Every other challenge was Ian pushing Mickey to be true to himself. This definitely isn’t that.

The fall passes with Mickey focusing on moving on. Or telling himself that’s what he’s doing. He tries dating and ends up having sex. He spends time with Yevgeny and tries to pretend he doesn’t see pity in Svetlana’s eyes. He wonders if it’s because she fucked up his life or because he’s so desperate to be important to someone that he doesn’t care that he’s not the father. 

He hears rumors that Ian’s dating someone. That he’s talking to the guys about it when they all compare notes about their weekends. He hears all sorts of things and withdraws more and more. He was distant from the crew before, but now he feels like a disembodied voice to them all, even though he works the floor alongside them. He’s thinking he should switch to nights, letting Jerome have the day shift.

He starts going to the gym. He starts beating the shit out of the heavy bag, trying to exhaust himself. His life turns into a series of being somewhere that he can’t think. He feels like he did after Ian walked away, even though it was him this time. He feels like it should feel better than it does. 

“You are pain in ass.”

Mickey looks up from where he’s buckling Yevgeny into the car. “What?”

“You mope. You don’t talk. Yevgeny says no more candy.”

“You tell me not to give him candy. Every time.”

“Yes, but you used to do it anyway. Now you listen to me. You never listen to me. You deliberately don’t listen to me.”

She can talk just fine these days without her Russian-influenced diction, but she doesn’t. She says it’s easier to play dumb so she can get what she wants. He gets that. It’s how he used to be – playing dumb, playing mean. “You’re his mom. You know best.”

“No. I don’t. You think I know how to raise a baby? Child? No. I make this up as I go.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got fucking instincts. Mother-shit.”

Yevgeny’s watching them, his brow furrowed. Mickey knows Yevgeny looks like him, so either Svetlana’s lying, which he doesn’t think she is because it’s pointless now, or Yevgeny’s his father’s kid. His brother. How fucked up is that?

“You are good father. Were. Before he came back in your life.”

“He’s not fucking in my life. Jesus. He’s not. Okay? He’s living his own life. I don’t talk to him, I barely see him. Ian Gallagher is as far from my life as he can get without living in another fucking country.” Mickey slams the back door and turns on her angrily. “You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know you all look at me like I’m some fucked up, weak asshole? You think I don’t know he looks at me like the pathetic idiot I am? I get it, okay? I’m fucked-up and a useless waste of space. I’m a fucking babysitter for you and a blip to everyone fucking else. So unless you plan on taking Yevgeny and getting the fuck out of my life, don’t fucking talk about Ian. I’m doing the best I fucking can, okay?”

He doesn’t mean to yell. He doesn’t mean to make the few guys in the parking lot – including Ian – look at him. He doesn’t mean to fuck up again, but he does. He always does. 

“We done?” Svetlana nods stiffly and Mickey thinks he sees the glint of tears in her eyes, but he can’t stomach the fucking pity. “I’ll see you Sunday night. And I’ll feed him some fucking candy.”

He gets in his car and peels out of the parking lot, his heart pounding a mile a minute. He knows it’ll be around the warehouse, probably before he gets in on Monday. He’s gay. Ian’s...something to him. Was something. Maybe Ian’ll make it a joke. Maybe they won’t say anything, they’ll just look at him like he’s a fucking alien. He’ll have to work twice as hard, because no matter what they thought of him before, they’ll know he’s gay and he’ll have to prove himself all over again. If he doesn’t get fired first.

He forces himself to slow down when he realizes he’s speeding. He glances in the rear view mirror at Yevgeny who’s still frowning. He meets Mickey’s gaze. “Papa?”

“Yeah?”

“You love me?”

“Yeah. Course I do.” He manages a smile. “I love you a lot.”

Yevgeny nods, expression serious. “You tell truth?”

“About loving you?”

“About candy.”

Mickey laughs and sniffs back the tears that suddenly flood his eyes. “Yeah. Should we stop and get your favorites?”

“Yes. And yours too. Papa need candy.”

“Yeah. Papa sure does.”

**

Spending the weekend with Yevgeny means doing as many things as he can think of to keep them out of the house, to keep them busy, to make himself fall into bed exhausted. He takes him back to Svetlana’s on Sunday night, wired on fucking pixi stix just to spite her. She says something nice to him, but Mickey doesn’t listen, just nods at her and leaves. 

He stops at a bar and doesn’t even bother to get drunk before he finds someone to take him into the back alley and fuck him, bang him hard enough that he has brick scrapes on his hands, on his forehead from where he rests it against the wall. It doesn’t help, but nothing does. 

He drives home after, feeling swollen and sore, blood welling in the palms of his hands. He parks his car and gets out. When he walks up to the door, he sees someone sitting outside the building smoking. He nods, thinking it’s one of his neighbors until the person stands up and the light above the door hits him. 

“Go away.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t give a shit what you need.” Mickey stops in front of Lip. “In fact, I would go so far as to say that what the Gallagher clan fucking needs is the last thing in the world I could give a shit about.”

Lip nods and then takes a swing. It catches Mickey by surprise and connects, but he reaches out and grabs Lip’s wrist and jerks him in so the punch directly to his smug face lands right against his nose. Blood spurts out and Lip takes a step back. Mickey glares at him. 

“You want to go?”

“What’d you do to Ian?”

“I didn’t do anything to Ian. I don’t know why you guys would think anything’s changed. I’ve been out of his life for almost three fucking years now. Nothing has changed. We ran into each other and had a brief conversation. That’s it. Whatever the fuck is wrong with your brother – and let’s fucking face it, that’s a fucking lot – has nothing to do with me whatsoever.”

Lip swells up like he’s about to explode and Mickey shakes his head. 

“Don’t, or you’re going to end up a smear on the sidewalk. And god knows you need that pretty face to get wherever you’re going in life. So get the fuck out of my sight. And stay there. In fact, keep your entire fucking family out of my sight, because if there’s one thing for goddamned sure it’s that my life without Gallaghers is a fuck lot better than it ever was with them. Hell, my life with my fucking dad was better than it was with your fucking clan around.”

“I don’t know what Ian ever saw in you.”

“No?” Mickey smirks. “Me either.” He crosses his arms over his chest and stares at Lip until he walks away, until he drives off in whatever car he borrowed or stole. Mickey sinks onto the stairs when he’s out of sight and lights a cigarette of his own. He doesn’t know how Lip knew where he lived. Doesn’t know if he knows Mickey and Ian work together. He’s beginning to think he doesn’t know anything anymore, except that he’s not going to sleep, so he chain smokes until the sun comes up and it’s time to shower and go to work. Might as well get it all over with.

**

There’s a note on Mickey’s desk when he gets in. Illinois has anti-discrimination laws, but that doesn’t mean that people don’t know how to work around them, especially in a field like his. He stands in the door of his boss’s office and waits until he’s waved in. As soon as he’s off the phone Elliot nods to a chair. “Sit.”

Mickey does. It’ll actually be a relief to have the other shoe drop. A way to force him to move on for real this time.

“We got a new account. Outfit out of the pacific northwest wants us running their freight. We’re going to need a swing-shift manager. You know the day crew and most of the night crew. Any recommendations?”

Mickey has to take a few seconds to catch up. “I could do swing.”

“No. I need you on days. You’re the most solid crew and they respect you. You don’t fuck them over and they don’t fuck around. Jerome gave me some names, but I want your suggestions, then I’ll ask your opinion on his choices.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Think about it and come see me by the end of the day.”

“Will do.” Mickey nods and gets up, heading out onto the floor. He sees a few guys glance at him, but they look away pretty quickly when the catch his eye. He should have told Elliott that he’d probably need to find a new day crew manager, but he figures he’ll let the guy handle one crisis at a time.

“You got a minute?”

Mickey hasn’t faced Ian alone since their talk in the bar. “Just.”

“I saw Lip last night.”

“Yeah? How is Philip?”

“His face looks like the chick in Willy Wonka who ate the blueberry shit.” Ian puffs out his cheeks and Mickey smirks. 

“Huh. Must have pissed someone off, huh?”

“I didn’t send him after you.”

“I don’t give a shit what you did.” Mickey sighs softly. “Don’t you get it, Gallagher? You do your thing, I do mine. Separately. This is how it’s got to be for everyone’s sanity.” He frowns at the poor choice of words. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s funny. No one does that.” Ian shoves his hands in his pockets and falls in step as Mickey starts walking. “Everyone’s so fucking careful, you know? Like I don’t know I’m fucking crazy.” He’s quiet, his mouth twisted. “Nobody gives a shit, you know. That you’re gay.”

“Right.”

“They don’t. Hell, I think it makes you human to them. They think you’re some sort of...I don’t know. Automaton. All work, no play.”

“That’s nice.”

“No. I don’t...” Ian exhales. “That’s not what I meant. I think they’d like you if you got to know them.”

“I’m their boss. I don’t need to know them. I need them to do their jobs. Just like that’s what I need from you.”

“Just go bowling with us.”

“Again with the bowling?”

“It’ll be fun. I know you’re familiar with the concept. It’ll be a whole group of us. Let them get to know you a little?”

“People get to know me and then they don’t want to be around me.” He says it lightly because he doesn’t mean it specifically about Ian, but there’s never going to be a way that Ian isn’t involved. Ian was about the only person who got to know him, and Mickey doesn’t like to think about how that turned out, no matter how much Ian seems to want him to.

“If it were anyone but me asking, would you go?”

Mickey sighs. “I’ll go to the fucking Christmas party, all right?”

“Yeah?” Ian smiles that stupid, large, ridiculous, heart-stopping smile and Mickey wants to slam his head into the wall. Instead he looks away toward the office. 

“Elliott’s going to start a swing shift for a new account we’re getting.”

“Yeah?” There’s something different in Ian’s voice, and Mickey knows that’s exactly why he told him. “Jerome put some names in. Wouldn’t be surprised if you’re in the running.”

“I’ve only worked here eight months.”

“Yeah, well. Good work gets noticed.” Mickey looks at Ian again. “You do good work, Ian. Whatever anyone tells you about anything else, know that, okay? And this job matters to me, so I’m not going to lie to make you feel good.”

“Have you ever lied to make me feel good?”

Mickey hates that even a casual sentence that has nothing to do with them hits him so hard. “If you tell Elliott we want to go bowling for the Christmas party, I’m kicking your ass.”

**

They go bowling.

Mickey glares at Ian for the first ten minutes he’s there. Ian pretends to ignore him, but Mickey’s eyes are locked on him, and he can see Ian glancing over at him occasionally, always fighting a smile. Finally Ian points to the screen above the lanes and Mickey’s name is right under Ian’s. There are three other people on the team, all from different shifts. It’s supposed to be random, but Mickey doesn’t believe it for a minute.

Ian is, it turns out, an awful bowler. Mickey is shit, but even he’s better than Gutter-ball Gallagher. The rest of the guys take up a chant whenever it’s Ian’s turn, everyone in every lane – even the ones that aren’t from their company – stops when he goes up to the lane. Ian flips them all off every time, but he’s smiling and goddamn it if Mickey’s not smiling back.

Jesus. The last time he saw Ian like this was almost the last time he saw Ian. Coming home from the dugout, singing stupid fucking 80s songs. Piggyback rides and the promise of a date. Mickey’s forehead creases into a frown and he gets up from his chair and goes to the bar. Ian turns back from his 15th gutter ball and Mickey can see him look for him, can see him frown when he finds him. Ian tilts his head in question and Mickey just takes a swallow of his drink.

“Hey, Mickey!” One of the guys yells. “Your turn, man. Come on.”

He takes another drink and walks back, setting his beer on the table next to the chairs. He grabs the first ball in the return and walks up to the first line. He’s wearing a tan dress shirt with the arms ripped off, a pair of old jeans, and bowling shoes. He looks ridiculous. He figures if he makes it through this first game, he’s done his duty and he can disappear. He just needs to get through this last frame and he can go home and drink away the memory of Ian’s arm around him, of finally getting things right with Ian.

Of course he gets a fucking strike.

Everyone cheers and slaps him on the back. One of the guys jokes about making a bowling league and making Mickey be the captain. Everyone laughs at Mickey’s expression, and he cracks a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Who’s turn now?”

“Yours. Tenth frame.” 

Mickey sighs. “Fuck.”

Everyone goes back to their own lanes, laughing as Mickey trudges back up to the line. He gets nine pins the next ball and he’s aiming for the five when someone shouts out “Sex pin!” and he loses his concentration and ends up with a gutter ball.

“The fuck?”

“Five pin’s the sex pin if it’s the only one standing. Get it, get laid. Miss it, well...we know who’s not getting anything tonight.”

Mickey flips him off. Aaron’s one of the night shift guys, and Mickey’s pretty sure Jerome put him up to it. Mickey drains his beer. “Well, I don’t need to see you bowl to know you’re not.”

Half the guys snort and someone jabs Aaron in the side and someone else slaps Mickey on the back. Mickey just smirks and lets them all set up the next game. He doesn’t bother to tell them he’s leaving, just grabs his jacket and scarf and heads toward the door, dropping his cup into the trash on his way.

“Mickey?”

He turns and Ian’s standing there, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “What’s up?”

“I’m really glad you came. I know this isn’t your kind of thing, even without the fact that these are your co-workers. But I’m glad you did. It means a lot. I mean, it means a lot to see you happy. Smiling.” 

There’s something underneath what Ian’s saying, but Mickey isn’t completely sure what it is. “I do smile sometimes.”

“I know. I see you at work and at your car with Yevgeny. I just...it means a lot to me.” Ian scrapes his top lip with his bottom teeth. “Can I buy you a beer?”

“Ian...”

“Christmas present. You can buy me one in return.” He says it quickly like if he can get it out fast enough Mickey won’t be able to refuse. “Please?”

“Hey, Gallagher! You’re up!”

Ian keeps staring at Mickey until Mickey nods slightly. Ian grins wide and turns back. “I gotta go. Mickey’s giving me a lift home.”

“He missed the sex pin. Hope you know that’s all he’s doing for you tonight.”

Mickey doesn’t see who says it, but several of the guys laugh. Mickey starts to tense until he realizes it’s the same laughter that comes when they’re giving each other shit about their girlfriends or wives or one-night stands. The same shit they gave him about Svetlana. “Pin stayed up,” Mickey says loud enough for them to hear. “Seems to me that’s an indication of things going well.” 

“Ooooh.” 

Ian flips the guys off. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

“That’s okay. Mickey doesn’t like girls.”

There’s more laughter and Mickey needs to get out of the bowling alley. He knows his face and ears and throat are all bright red and the urge to flee and hide is strong even though he knows they’re joking. Teasing. He turns and tugs his jacket on as he goes out the door, Ian on his heels. 

“You okay?”

“A little teasing isn’t going to kill me.”

“I was more worried about you killing them.”

“Nah. Shit, if I did that, I’d have to train a whole new crew.” Mickey winds his scarf around his neck. “I may be a masochist, but I’m not that _much_ of one.”

Ian laughs and bumps into Mickey. “I actually do need a ride.”

“Jesus, Gallagher.” Mickey shakes his head. “You’re like a child. I think my three-year-old has more survival skills than you do.”

“That’s because he’s a bad-ass Milkovich like his dad.” Ian frowns at Mickey. “What?”

“What what?”

“You got a look.”

Mickey shrugs. “Weekend dad. Pretty sure he’s more Svetlana than me.” Mickey pulls out his car keys and unlocks the car. It’s a dark green Lincoln Continental and Ian stops to admire it. 

“Is this new? What year?”

“61. Don’t drive it when I’m gonna have Yevgeny, since it’s got the suicide doors. Have a beat up piece of shit for that. But this one...I spend a lot of weekends on it.”

Ian runs his hand over the hood. “Looks good.”

“It runs and gets me where I need to go. And I got it for 500 bucks.” He nods at the door. “You getting in?” Ian climbs in the passenger seat and buckles his seat belt as Mickey slides in. “Where are we going?”

“Where’s good around here?” Ian shrugs. “Not really my normal part of town. But you live around here, don’t you?”

Mickey raises an eyebrow. “You have never been subtle. You know that, right? Didn’t your brother just tell you?”

“Fuck no. Lip doesn’t want me anywhere near you.” Ian’s quiet for a moment and then sighs. “You know that’s not what this is about, right? Lip. It’s not to spite him or anything.”

“If us having a beer puts his fucking tits in a twist, that’s his problem.” Mickey shrugs and drives a few minutes more before pulling into a parking lot. “Because that’s all it is.”

“I know.” Ian nods. “I’m not expecting anything more. Also, I’m having a soda. With the meds, I’m a cheap ass date. Not that I date.”

“No?” He waits until Ian gets out of the car before walking toward the doors. It’s a complete dive. A bar like the Alibi where it’s only regulars. He’s a semi-regular and they accept him, but he doesn’t think he’s been talked to once other than by the bartender. He usually goes there on a Sunday night when he doesn’t have Yevgeny and isn’t looking for someone to take him home. “Thought I heard you were seeing someone.”

“Just rumors. A friend from my therapy group dropped me off one day. He’d had a rough night and didn’t want to be alone, so we played cards all night. Didn’t get much sleep, so everyone thought we were dating.” Mickey leads them to a table then goes up to the bar and orders for both of them. When he comes back, he sets Ian’s soda in front of him. 

“I had them put a cherry in. Just to make it fancy shit.”

“Wow. You go all out.” Ian takes a sip as Mickey sits down. “I haven’t had sex since...well, since before I was committed.”

Mickey knows that Ian doesn’t mean for it to, and it probably shouldn’t, but it stings. He knows it means that Ian fucked people after they broke up. Mickey did too, so he has no right, but it still feels like a knife to the gut. “Yeah, well. Can’t say the same.”

“I know. I’d feel...actually I’d kind of feel like shit if you could. Not that I...like hearing about you fucking other people, but I’m glad you got on with your life.”

“Yeah? Well, I was pretty fond where I was in the life I already had.” Mickey blows out a breath and takes a deep drink of his beer. “So you guys have some big Gallagher Christmas planned?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, the usual. Fiona and the guy – whoever it is...”

“What happened to the husband?”

“Don’t know. It all went down while I was away. Lip and whatever girl he’s got going on right now. Debbie and her kid.”

“Wait. What?”

“She got pregnant. Guy thought she was on the pill, and was pissed off. Wanted her to get an abortion. She was stubborn as fuck. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love my niece, but I’m kind of pissed at Debbie for putting off her potential.”

“Okay. Please don’t tell me Liam’s, like, I don’t know. Hooking.”

Ian snorts a laugh. “No. He’s in pre-school now though. Lip pays for it. And Carl’s working at some grocery store for probation.”

“Your family gives mine a run for it’s money if you don’t count the psycho dad. I mean, Frank’s a lot of fucking awful things, but at least he ain’t a homophobic psycho who’d kill you as soon as look at you, right?”

“Yeah.” Ian swings his foot and kicks Mickey lightly. “Shit. Sorry.”

“Kev and Vee still live next door?”

“Yeah. We’re still fighting the gentrification kicking and screaming, but not sure how much longer we’re going to last. Anyway. They’ll come over with the girls. Frank’ll show up and ruin everything. Just like old times.” Ian pulls the cherry out of his drink and bites into it. “What about you?”

“Svetlana and Yevgeny come over Christmas Eve. She yells at me about giving him stupid shit. He loves the stupid shit. She gives him more stupid shit. I buy one of those fucking chicken deals at the grocery store and we heat it up. Have dinner. Have a beer. They go home unless he’s spending the night. He usually doesn’t. She likes to have him Christmas day. I think she gives him even more stupid shit.”

“So what do you do?”

“Call Mandy. Watch movies. Drink beer. Play video games. Stick my hand down my pants, scratch my balls. Just the same shit I do on my regular days off.”

“You could come over.”

“No, I fucking couldn’t.” Mickey laughs incredulously. “Your family hates me. I’m not sure why. Maybe they blame me for your shit. Maybe I’m the scapegoat for everything that went wrong. Hell, maybe you told them I told you to fuck off because I wasn’t dealing with your disorder anymore. I don’t fucking know, but they don’t like me and, to be honest, I don’t like them much either.”

“And that includes me too, right?” Ian looks fucking sad and Mickey _hates_ it. “I don’t blame you. I was...fucking awful to you. I’d blame the bipolar, but I think I was just scared. Scared I was like her and I’d turn you into someone like Frank. That’d you resent me. Hate me.”

“Thanks for the benefit of the fucking doubt.” Mickey takes another drink. “Did you just not believe I loved you? Like I, of all people, was just saying it? Tossing that shit out there?”

“No. I just...” Ian drains his glass and exhales, shoulders hunching. “But I hated myself. Couldn’t believe anyone could love me.”

“I know the fucking feeling. And you were wrong.” Mickey finishes his beer and shakes his head. “You need a ride home?”

“You were wrong too.”

“Couldn’t prove it by me.” He pushes his glass toward the center of the table and stands up. “You need a ride home?”

Ian nods. “Yeah. If that’s okay.”

“Long as your family doesn’t fucking egg my car and mess up the paint work, it’s fine.” Mickey heads back to the car with Ian on his heels. They’re quiet, getting halfway to the Gallagher house before Ian speaks.

“Thank you.”

“For what? Your soda cost two bucks.”

“For going out with me to the bar.”

Mickey shrugs. “You didn’t buy the beer though. I did. So I guess you owe me one, huh?”

Ian smiles so bright that Mickey has to look away. “Yeah. I guess I do.”


End file.
